Strangers Like Me
by alextasy
Summary: Lenore Whiting hates the fact that her growing captivation with Severus is becoming out of her control. However, this does not stop her from also despising the subtle attraction that Severus has for a certain redheaded witch.
1. Bloody Perfect

**Strangers Like Me**

_By: alextasy_

**Summary**: Lenore Whiting wonders why she just can't stop staring, and reflects upon how this strange captivation came about.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. All familiar characters and plot devices belong to the ever-powerful J.K. Rowling and anyone else with rights to them.

I do, however, own any unfamiliar characters and the plot line. If you steal them, I will first pity you for having so much time on your hands, and then, I will plague you with my wrath and won't stop at anything until your account has been deleted. Thank you, and happy reading!

* * *

She was staring at him. Admiring him. 

No, not again. She couldn't possibly be drawn to this boy of such improper demeanor; that would be a wretched shame. She averted her dark eyes and allowed a false countenance of utmost attentiveness to accompany her.

Oh, bother. Oh, spite! Not a minute had passed and her stubborn gaze had once again found and lay upon the back of this boy's head. What, she asked herself angrily, made the back of this boy's head so very interesting that she should be drawn from her own education? Surely the knowledge around her should be enough to distract her from this very unfortunate attraction?

Of course, she knew the answer to her own questions.

Nothing could tempt her watch from this very boy just before her, not even the Professor's detailed lecture on lethal poisons to the human being! And it was general knowledge that this "odd Lenore girl" had a strange and rather daunting fascination with anything toxic or destructive.

Proper as she was, Lenore had her quirks, just like any other person, but these oddities did not offer anyone any reason to love her the more. On the contrary, it just gave intimidated people an excuse to turn and hurry in the opposite direction.

But let us not wander from our original question. Why would a girl like Lenore be seemingly doting upon a boy like this?

Lenore Whiting is a decidedly plain but uncommonly intelligent witch . . . uncommonly intelligent because Lenore is also wretchedly unmotivated. She has a habitual talent for reserving her admittedly extended knowledge for situations she feels is worthy of her intelligence. On many occasions, Lenore used her talent in logic and cunning to sneak out of the school when the moon is shining pleasantly upon the grounds and nobody is about to hinder her relaxation.

Her mother frowned upon this practice, as did other annoyingly authoritative figures, such as her teachers. A brilliant mind wasted on such a troublesome girl, as they'd repeat to her time and time again.

But this did not matter. As long as Lenore personally felt that she was gaining full advantage of her "brilliant mind," then there was no need to bother herself with pleasing others. No need to please anyone else, she thought, except perhaps her mother, Cornelia Whiting. She was Lenore's matronly guide, her moral tug in the agreeable direction, her balance between propriety and rebellion. Without her mother, there was no doubt in Lenore's maturely developed mind that she would have been a wretched convict with a desolate and insanely lonesome cell in Azkaban. Therefore, Lenore respected her mother to the highest degree and deigned to never be out of place in her presence.

Unfortunately, Lenore's mother would never approve of such a drawing to this boy. What with his decidedly idle expression that always accompanied him, his obvious disregard for all things proper and correct, and the constant presence of nonchalance about him, this boy was everything Mrs. Whiting preached against.

Fortunately, for Lenore that is, her mother had no knowledge of her allurement towards this beau. Close as they were, Lenore was not silly enough to impress upon her mother such private feelings. She was sure dear mother would not have the same opinions as she on him.

Cornelia liked to imagine her daughter's future marriage to consist of all the traditional trimmings: dress, flowers, all in white, swooning guests, and of course, the gentleman. Lenore cringed at the thought, and if she weren't so bent upon pleasing mother, she would have hastened to elope with a man who simply screamed conspiracy and be done with it. Oh, what a hindrance a loving parent could be at times!

Lenore's taste in men differed greatly from her mother's. While Cornelia favored men of well-learnt manners and clean cut modesty, Lenore lusted for men such as the one she gazed longingly upon at the present moment. No, Lenore did not lust after him just for the purpose of spiting her decent mother. She lusted after him because, to put it quite plainly, he was _different_.

His half masked eyes were regularly attended with that painful shadow of a darker past. Those liquid pools which never dared betray him of any emotion -- save for those of hatred, indifference, or pessimism -- and gave him the appearance of a very mysterious stranger, one who knew many things beyond regular human astuteness. While he adopted this look to draw people away, Lenore found that his angst-ridden persona rather had the opposite effect on her. She was unwillingly magnetized, and found that this quality above others is how this captivation first came about. This quality of which he possessed was probably her favorite thing about him.

As Lenore watched, he was reading the text of the yellowing pages that made up his textbook. Although his midnight black hair hung tantalizingly at just the right length to hide his perfect face, she could see he was mouthing the words with his lips, -- his _lovely_ lips -- as he read them in his mind. It had been on more than one occasion that she had seen those lips forming into that perfect curve to frown at those he passionately despised. He possessed a wonderful gift. Not many people she came across could put on such a face and have it be rendered perfect. A perfect frown, she thought, smilingly.

It was for certain that when someone said Lenore had an unusual taste in men, there really was not much to argue with. Other girls -- superficial and big headed, as Lenore called them -- fell weak-kneed and starry-eyed for Quidditch stars or other regularly sought-after Hogwarts boys. And Lenore, well, she doted upon the boy who was ridiculously teased and scoffed at on a daily basis.

He had a frail frame, one which gave him the constant look of fragility. Not much muscle bulged from behind the pallid skin, but Lenore found that boys who were full to bursting with muscles did not quite catch her fancy. She did not like boys for shallow reasons, anyhow. She had been taught better.

If only his feelings for her mirrored what she felt for him! Being prideful as she was, Lenore was not just about to moan and complain that he didn't even know she existed; the very thought of someone not knowing of a person in such close vicinity's presence was the most absurd thing she'd ever heard of. They went to the same school and had many of the same classes -- much to Lenore's secret delight --, how could he _not_ know she existed?

Why him? Why had she chosen to put herself in such torture? What a masochist she was!

No, no, no. One did not choose who they loved, and if there ever was a person who did so, they were bound to be an individual of most utter forlornness. Lenore was not a masochist; she was merely a slave to passion. And passion's first name was Severus.

Severus Snape. He was not the most popular boy in school and got picked on horribly. Students enjoyed his scorn and teachers always placed the unwelcome spotlight on him. He was the introvert in class, but a genius at potions and dueling. Fellow schoolmates reserved no second thought to him and several girls just straightforwardly called him ugly. He was not a Quidditch jock and Lenore hoped he never would be.

He was just Severus Snape, and he was bloody perfect.

* * *

Hope you liked it! Please read and review, thanks!

Your Authoress, alextasy


	2. Ignorant People

**Strangers Like Me**

**Chapter Two : Ignorant People**

* * *

"Whiting! Ms. Whiting!"

Lenore blinked and slowly turned her attention back to the Professor, who held a look of extreme annoyance at her continued insouciance.

"Yes, Professor?"

"My dear child, pluck your head from the clouds and _pay attention_!" Professor Cuthbert's eyebrows were knitted together in agitation, and Lenore beheld a slight throb beginning to grace his temple. She smiled impishly but did not offer any answer.

Cuthbert favored his "most prized pupil" with a few more seconds under his acrimonious stare, and returned to lecturing the class at large, upon which Lenore shot him back a most unladylike glower.

_Pluck your head from the clouds, indeed_, she thought heatedly. She was knowledgeable enough to know when a class would prove useless when she already knew everything that the condescending Professor spoke of. Lenore sighed in a most exasperated fashion and picked up her quill to feign taking notes. Instead, she spent the next few minutes sketching out the bird she spied sitting in plain view on the classroom window sill.

Leaving the teacher's death-tone voice to merely float about in the air around her, she continued to draw, never taking in a word of the Professor's useless lecture. As she finished up her "notes," Lenore sat up straight to look appraisingly at her own work. Lenore was by no means an artist, and the bird looked rather like an oddly out of place cartoon drawing in a child's program. She looked up only to find that the bird had flown away.

As she leaned back forward to tweak at the drawing's tail, a long sheet of her dark mane swung forward, sweeping across her wet picture and smearing it. Lenore let out a soft but audible sound of surprise, once again catching the unpleasant attention of her Professor.

Cuthbert paused his pacing of the room to arch an eyebrow at the wide-eyed girl. "Ms. Whiting, if you continue to disrupt this class, I assure you, you will not enjoy the last few weeks you have in this school." Without waiting for a response, he clasped his hands behind his back and continued his routine of lecture and pace.

Lenore personally thought that her approaching departure from this school was a most excitable event, and that nothing, not even Professor Walk-and-Talk, could diminish her spirits. Seven long years it has been, and the only thing standing in the way of her final passing through of those double doors, was her testing. While other students spent all-nighters to prepare for these vital tests, Lenore took them with a manner of nonchalance, an attitude that her teachers certainly did not approve of. However, Lenore could not be bothered. She had always been at least a year ahead of everybody else in education, due to her mother's persistence of keeping up her schooling during the summer. Lenore did not enjoy this practice, but it was admittedly convenient.

She frowned down at her now spoiled piece of parchment and swept a loose tendril over her shoulder. Gathering her hair at the back of her head, Lenore twisted her disobedient locks into a knot at the nape of her neck. She crumpled the scrap of parchment and considered throwing it at her Professor, but alas, the bell had rung, signaling the mad dash of students up and down the hallways.

Lenore looked down at the crumpled scrap in her fist, and, feeling personally injured at her loss, got rid of it instead with a banishing charm and left the room with haste.

* * *

Potions having been her third class of the day, Lenore began to wend her way towards the Great Hall for her favorite part of the day – lunch, which was second only to the peacefulness of night. She smiled serenely to herself upon arrival, and took a seat at the table with her fellow Ravenclaws.

However, Lenore had not even reached for the jug of pumpkin juice, when, out of the blue, a girl had rudely landed in the empty seat next to her, looking as if she'd positively flown from the Slytherin table. This girl looked at her with a countenance of innocence that caused a spark of suspicion to erupt in Lenore's eyes.

"What have you done?" Lenore asked the Slytherin, "If you've come to tell me that you've gotten into another vicious row with another poor, innocent, student, then I assure you that my assistance for you will be limited."

This girl laughed and brushed aside Lenore's reprimand and said, "I've done nothing quite as bad this time, but I do ask of a very tiny favor. . ."

Lenore laughed this time, although her humour was the cause of this girl's lack of subtlety. "Tell me what you did now, Helena, and I won't have to resort to blatant force."

This girl called Helena quickly adopted a very sad, but painfully obvious look of feigned injury, upon which Lenore responded, "Oh, don't try and be pitiable, you lost that particular talent years ago." She sat up straighter as she spoke, her posture stiffening with her patience. "Now, tell me what heinous crime you've committed this time, I'd rather like to finish my meal before the bell rings." Honestly, if this girl is so bold to stand between Lenore and her precious food, then one must assume that she has some sort of morbid death wish on her mind.

"Very well," Helena answered, "But you have to promise me a favour before I go any further. Would you?" she asked, sounding very timid, but altogether determined.

"Carry on, carry on!" Lenore said exasperatedly, as she ladled stew for herself. "Why do you make such an ordeal out of this? I'm sure it can't be that horrible."

"It really isn't, I swear! But, knowing of how you are so concerned for my education, I-!"

"You've skipped class!" Lenore accused, abandoning her lunch to verify that her thoughts were correct, "How dare you, Helena, in our N.E.W.T year as well! And you aren't ashamed of yourself?"

"Now, you're being just a bit unfair," Helena said timorously, "I haven't even gotten your word of promise yet!" She shifted uncomfortably in her seat under Lenore's angry glare.

"And no such promise will I be willing to keep. You skipped classes, after all. Tell me, what class this was?"

Helena puffed with anger but answered, "I did not skip class; I merely _missed_ class. And since you so politely ask, I missed Care of Magical Creatures, a dreadfully useless class if you ask me, for I do despise magical creatures so and never plan to go into any career concerning them!"

Lenore shook her head in disappointment, for Helena's lack of perseverance at the present moment was both deplorable and rather unbecoming for her. Lenore, being a well-deserved Ravenclaw, had grown used to the sight of people around her studying frequently and achieving outstanding academic records. Although Lenore possessed no motivation for these things she called "trivial matters," she still held the highest respect for her housemates, and continued to pass with respectable marks, so as not to tarnish their scholarly reputations.

Helena, being an eminent Slytherin, _did_ possess the incentive required for such educational endeavours, but alas, did not inherit quite the level of acumen that Lenore had graced from her father. This is why Lenore had been so shocked and dismayed at Helena's new practice of missing classes.

"Please, Lenore, would you carry out my quick and harmless favour?" Helena spoke.

Lenore rested her chin in her palm and answered, "Like I've told you, you don't deserve any such favour from me, now that I know you've been so careless in your education. You won't be receiving any favours from me until you tell me why you felt it necessary to miss class. Just because you will never use it in future cannot count as a reason."

"_Very_ _well_, then! I felt horribly ill."

Lenore eyed her inscrutably and said, "You don't look ill to me."

Helena sighed exasperatedly and snapped, "If you'd let me finish!"

"Go on, then!"

"The sun! It was so hot outside, so bright, and you know I can't stand that kind of weather. Of course, this being a double period. . . well, I could have collapsed," Helena said indignantly. "I could barely make it back up to the castle when I asked to make it back up to the castle for the infirmary." Helena silenced, and looked over at Lenore, searching for any expression of skepticism or incredulity.

Lenore remained unreadable and said, "It's funny how the rest of your class seemed to be able to tolerate the weather . . ."

"Oh, don't be impossible! I'm ill! Can't you tell just by looking at me? I think I can _feel _my pallor." Helena rested a hand on her cheek, as if to exaggerate her lameness.

"Your pallid features are in your nature, Helena," Lenore said in a bored manner. "You are slowly losing any promise a favor."

"You're wrong!" Helena could not quite believe Lenore's lack of support. Lenore, who had always willingly offered a helping hand, was now crossing her arms stubbornly, her helping hand out of sight.

"Please, Lenore, I've never felt more ill in my life."

Lenore's tense stature began to relax, but she still had not given in. "If you are so sick, why have you not seen the nurse?"

Helena made an impatient noise and explained, "I know that nurse has nothing that could help me. But you're coming off track on purpose. Just because you're smarter than me in many ways, doesn't mean I could have missed that."

The angry Ravenclaw let out a long inhalation through her nose, as if she had anxiously been holding her breath in.

Helena translated this action as resignation, and gladly continued, "Could you get my assignments back from the Care of Magical Creatures Professor? I heard he's given our essays back, and-"

Lenore seemed to snap out of her disappointed stupor and exclaimed, "Just a minute! You can't get your own homework back from the Professor . . . why, now?"

Helena stared at her companion in stiff surprise, as a loud, chattering group of students passed by them. "Excuse me?" she asked, with raised eyebrows, when the gossiping teenagers moved past, "Do you not have a normal view of the window? Didn't you listen to anything I just said to you? The weather will make me feel sick again. I'm sure the last thing you want is for me to miss _another_ class-"

"And you seriously can't take just five minutes under the sun? You're impossible!" Lenore had retorted, finally turning away from Helena to dab at her now cold food, a frown forming on her usually nonchalant face.

"Please? Oh, please, Lenore? Be a good girl, now. I only ask for you to take five minutes away from your time. For me?" She had tried the ever famous pout, but Lenore was immovable.

Through clenched teeth, Lenore answered Helena, "Be a good girl? I am your _sister_, not your golden retriever – no."

Helena seemed to wilt in disappointment at her sister's decided answer. "But as my sister, isn't it your job to take care of me?"

"Don't start with me, not now. I think my head is starting to feel compressed with all your begging and whining. Go get a friend to do it for you, why should I be bothered?"

Lenore knew she had prodded a tender spot, but she was in too much of a wretched mood to honestly care. For reasons that Lenore could never really grasp, Helena had never really had any good friends. Only her mother and Helena ever seemed to understand this strange truth.

Lenore turned to her right to see what damage her statement had caused, but Helena was no longer seated. She was now standing up behind the bench, staring down – was that a look of pity? – at her. Lenore blinked; she had not even heard Helena get up.

"Well, thank you for your _help_," she said scathingly. "You may be my sister, but with the way you've been treating me lately, you might as well just be my _dog_." Helena looked as if she were seriously biting back the rest of her retort, but thought better of it. Her eyes were hard and unforgiving, a dark shade of charcoal. "You might as well stop poking at your food, _dear_; the bell's going to ring now." With a sweep of her robes, she turned, and sauntered away, her head held high with dignified arrogance.

Lenore could have sworn she heard Helena darkly muttering something about "ignorant people," just before she had turned to leave.

And then, just like Helena had expected, the bell rang.

* * *

**A/N:**

I will be quick and to the point here. I realize the lack of character interaction and such in the first chapter, and I apologize. I suppose I was so bent on establishing the information that this whole fiction would be based on, that I completely forgot physical and mental elements. That was very careless of me. But thank you, litheshadow, for your criticism. And thank you, everyone who reviewed! I'm so relieved you liked it anyhow, and I especially appreciated all your comments on my writing style! I promise I'll try and make this better.

alextasy


End file.
